The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2)

by Alicia Quigley

  Arthur tugged at his neckcloth. “I am going to Wroxton for dinner with the earl and Mr. Delaney.”

  Damaris smiled at him charmingly. “How lovely. We shall miss you, of course, but that means I will be able to have a lovely gossip with Helena. I would hate to bore you with our chattering.”

  “You could never bore me, Mrs. Honeysett,” said Arthur gallantly. “I now regret I have another engagement tonight.

  “How prettily said.” Damaris turned to Helena. “You had best beware or your brother will pick up Wroxton’s way with the ladies.”

  “I certainly hope not,” rejoined Helena. “If there is any truth to the tales I have heard, Arthur would scarcely have time to do anything but go about conquering the hearts of unsuspecting damsels.”

  Damaris placed a hand on Arthur’s arm. “You will have to find out for us tonight if the stories are true about him and the Comtesse de Choiseu are true. I have heard such things!”

  Arthur flushed slightly. “I hardly think I would ask his lordship—,” he began.

  Damaris laughed. “I’m sure you will talk of horses and prize fighting and other horrid things. I will miss you, though. You and your sister must visit me in Folkestone soon.”

  “I would be honored,” said Arthur. He bowed over her hand and, with a wave at Helena departed. His horse could be heard cantering away a few moments later.

  “He is such a sweet boy,” said Damaris. “It will do him good to spend time with Wroxton.”

  Helena led her friend into the drawing room. “Why do you say that?”

  Damaris sat down and patted the settee next to her invitingly. “Your brother needs to think of things other than Keighley Manor, and the earl needs to learn how to be a good landholder. Think how much they may benefit one another.”

  Helena laughed. “I doubt Wroxton will take my brother as a model. Indeed, I have a great fear the opposite will happen.”

  “Would that be so bad? There’s always something charming about a rake, is there not?” Damaris gave Helena an inquiring glance.

  “You are incorrigible,” sighed Helena. “What is it you want to know?

  Damaris gazed at Helena innocently. “Only what has passed between you and the Wicked Earl.”

  “Why should I have seen him at all?” asked Helena airily.

  Damaris laughed. “I have eyes in my head, don’t I? It was quite clear that you were attracted to each other at the assembly, and then what must you do but quarrel the moment you spoke. I no more think he has stayed away from you than I think pigs can fly.”

  “We were not drawn to each other!” protested Helena.

  “You may be able to fool Arthur, who is just a boy, or the local gentry, but I know when a man and a woman feel an attraction,” said Damaris frankly. “I’m no dewy-eyed innocent, Helena. So, please, tell me what has happened.”

  Helena folded her hands in her lap. “Very little.”

  “You must let me be the judge of that. Go on.”

  “You are far too inquisitive.”

  When Damaris did not reply, but only put her chin in her hand and stared at Helena avidly, wringing a reluctant chuckle from her.

  “Very well,” she said. “Nothing of note has happened. Lord Wroxton came to Keighley Manor two days ago and I showed him the grounds. We spoke of the need to stop the smugglers, and agreed to visit the beach on Wroxton land where I suspect the free traders have landed. Today we rode there, and found my suspicions were true.”

  “And?” prompted Damaris.

  “That is all,” responded Helena primly.

  “It seems you have spent a great deal of time with Lord Wroxton,” ventured Damaris.

  “How else shall we stop the smugglers?”

  “Is that really all there is to it?”

  “That is indeed all. What other reason would I have to spend time with Lord Wroxton?”

  “Oh my dear, you are so foolish.” Damaris shook her head. “The first time he saw you, he kissed you, did he not?”

  Helena flushed a bit, but nodded.

  “You kissed him back, I suppose?”

  “Damaris! As though I would do such a thing!”

  “So you pushed him away? You found it unpleasant?”

  Helena hesitated. “No,” she finally admitted. “At least, I did not push him away, but I was so shocked I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Believe me, if a kiss is unpleasant, the impulse to push a man away is irresistible,” said Damaris.

  “I—I know that.” Helena did not meet her friend’s eyes.

  Damaris gave her a sharp look. “Sometime, my dear, you will have to tell me what happened that night in London with Lord Denby.”

  Helena looked away. “It no longer matters.”

  “On the contrary, it matters a great deal,” said Damaris. “Whatever happened changed your life. However, none of it was Wroxton’s fault.”

  “I know that as well,” said Helena crossly.

  “So, if you wish to kiss him, perhaps you should,” proposed Damaris.

  “What?” squeaked Helena.

  “As I understand it, your reputation was ruined by Lord Denby, was it not?” asked Damaris. When Helena nodded reluctantly, she continued. “So you are painted as unmarriageable. What then is to stop you from kissing the very handsome and interesting earl?”

  Helena gaped at her. “Why would I want to?”

  Damaris tilted her head slightly and surveyed Helena. “Because he is quite fascinating and very attractive. Do you not think so?”

  “He is irresponsible and glib,” Helena answered sternly.

  “As I said—fascinating.” Damaris smiled at her encouragingly. “Do not deny yourself this, Helena. You might not find someone as interesting again. Unless you prefer Lord Denby?”

  Helena dropped her eyes and shuddered slightly. “I do not. But that doesn’t mean I want Lord Wroxton.”

  “You need not marry Wroxton,” said Damaris. “After all, you didn’t marry Denby.”

  Helena sighed. “They are two very different things.”

  Damaris laughed. “Oh, very much so. I’ve no doubt there are some women who find Denby’s type attractive, but I am not one of them. The Wicked Earl, on the other hand—” she broke off and raised her eyebrows, a twinkle in her eye.

  “Perhaps you should pursue him, then,” said Helena, a touch of annoyance creeping into her voice.

  “If I were not passionately in love with my George—and if the earl had shown the slightest interest in me—I might agree with you. But, as it is, I have no desire to ensnare his lordship, and it is your home he has visited twice in two days.” Damaris took Helena’s hand in hers and patted it. “Tell me, dear, what happened in London between you and Lord Denby?”

  Helena gave a tiny shake of her head. “It is so ridiculous I can’t believe I was taken in by him. He had been courting me, I suppose, as he had shown interest in me before I came out and would pay me extravagant compliments whenever he encountered me. But I made it clear I did not care for him, and Papa despised him. So, I thought nothing of it. In London he was most solicitous, though I paid him little attention, and he did not approach Papa to ask to pay his addresses to me.”

  “No doubt he knew he had no chance with you,” said Damaris.

  “I certainly did not encourage him.” Helena looked down at her hands. “One evening at Montagu House, I grew weary of the noise and crowd, and sought some quiet. Lord Denby was there, and must have been watching me, for while I was in an anteroom, simply trying to have a moment of quiet, he approached me. He was very civil; indeed, his conversation was unexceptionable and I thought he would leave in a moment. But then, I heard voices approaching and he leaped forward and grabbed me, holding me close and kissing me—if you can call that a kiss!”

  “It does not compare to Wroxton’s?” asked Damaris.

  Helena turned bright red. “That was not what I meant. I was so surprised that I was stunned for a moment, and there was no tenderness to it; he
simply mashed his mouth to mine and pawed at my clothing!” She gave a little shudder at the memory.

  “It sounds very unpleasant—and far less fun than kissing Wroxton might be.”

  “It was extremely unpleasant. I do not compare him to Wroxton, of course.”

  “Of course,” said Damaris.

  “Then,” continued Helena, “two gentlemen and a lady walked into the room and saw us. They were friends of his, I knew, and the lady was a known gossip. Lord Denby stepped back from me before I could even struggle, and smiled at me odiously. He told his friends we were to be wed, and I contradicted him. Before the night was out all of London knew.”

  “Did he let the matter drop?” asked Damaris.

  “No—he came to our townhouse the next day and asked to see me, but I refused. Papa did not blame me, but he was furious. He was not well before that, and was only worse afterward.”

  “So Denby meant to compromise you and force you into marriage.”

  “So it seems,” said Helena. “But why? Our land marches with his, but I will not inherit it, so it would be of no benefit to him.”

  “Perhaps he loves you,” ventured Damaris.

  “Nonsense,” said Helena. “If he loved me, he would have spoken to Papa and courted me properly. He would also have respected my refusal of his offer. Furthermore, you only have to be in his company a few minutes to know he loves no one but himself.”

  “Perhaps he knew your father would not accept such a match?”

  “Doubtless, but I never felt any affection from him, just—I do not know how to say it, but he is like a toad, or a snake. He makes my flesh crawl.”

  Damaris nodded sympathetically. “Indeed, I do know.”

  Helena frowned. “The gossip was vicious, so I returned to Kent. I am better off here, where I can help Arthur.”

  “But it is such a waste,” protested Damaris. “I know you love Keighley Manor, but it is your brother’s. You need a home of your own.”

  “Arthur will never turn me out. With any luck I will like his wife, and I know I shall adore his children.”

  “But, my dear, do you never wish for more excitement?”

  Helena shrugged. “I’ve had enough of that. There are no free traders in the ballrooms of London, after all,” she added with a tiny smile

  “Nor, just now, the Earl of Wroxton. Your little adventure will put you much in his company.”

  “I suppose it will. But he will go back to town soon enough.”

  Damaris gave her a sly look. “Have you really given no thought to—er, enjoying your time with him?”

  Helena gaped at her. “Enjoying my time? With Lord Wroxton?”

  “Yes,” said Damaris patiently. “Enjoying it. You are ruined, he will not be here long, he has kissed you, you have kissed him back….”

  “Damaris, are you suggesting that I have an illicit affaire with Lord Wroxton?”

  “Oh no, I would never suggest that,” said Damaris hastily. “Unless, of course, you wish to.” She gave Helena a mischievous look.

  “I do not,” said Helena firmly.

  “Very well,” Damaris replied meekly. “I can see how embarking on such a course would be frightening.”

  “I’m not frightened,” protested Helena. “I’m also not interested.”

  “What a pity, it seems such an opportunity,” murmured Damaris. “Of course, there is Mr. Delaney as well,” she trailed off, glancing at Helena’s face. “No, I suppose not,” she continued. “Well, you know best.”

  “I certainly do,” Helena replied.

  After her firm dismissal of her friend’s suggestion, talk turned to other things, such as the latest fashions and the doings of the neighbors. Damaris refrained from further references to the Wicked Earl over dinner, and when she bid Helena good night as the sun slipped below the horizon in a blaze of orange and red, she only said, “Think about what we discussed,” as she climbed into her carriage.

  Helena walked slowly into the house, enjoying the light breeze that wafted from the water and the faint scent of herbs from the garden. She glanced once over her shoulder in the direction of Wroxton, wondering when Arthur might return. But, for gentlemen, it was still very early, and she was sure her brother was enjoying his evening with the dashing visitors from London a great deal. With a sigh, she trailed up the stairs to her room.

  Some hours later she awoke with a start, hearing heavy footsteps in the hall. She sat up, surprised, but then realized it must be Arthur, returned from Wroxton. She fumbled at her bedside table and lit the candle she kept there. She heard Arthur moving down the hall, and then a sudden crash and a muttered oath. Jumping out of bed, Helena tossed a thin wrapper over her nightgown and, taking the candle with her, walked across the room and opened the door. She peered out in to the hall, and saw Arthur seated on the floor, his legs splayed out in front of him, a foolish grin on his face.

  “Arthur, what are you doing?” she demanded. “Is something wrong?”

  A giggle broke from her brother, and he scrambled to his feet and stood, swaying slightly.

  “I’m fine, Helena,” he said. “Go back to bed.”

  Helena stepped closer to him and held her candle up. “What are you doing here in the dark? What time is it?”

  Arthur raised a hand to shield his eyes from the flame. “It’s past three. I didn’t want to wake you with a light, so I thought I’d make my way in the dark. But someone seems to have moved this table, and I stumbled into it.”

  Helena cast an impatient glance at the offending piece of furniture. “It’s been there for the past twenty years,” she said tartly. “No one ever moves anything here.” There was a pause. “What do you mean, it’s past three?”

  “Just that,” said Arthur cheerfully. “Go to bed, I will talk to you in the morning.”

  Helena peered at him. “Are you drunk?” she demanded.

  “Devil a bit. We had some brandy, of course.”

  Helena’s eyes narrowed as she noted that his diction was overly careful. “You are drunk. Arthur, how could you?”

  “It was just a few brandies,” said Arthur irritably. “Don’t mother me, Helena. We had some wine with dinner and played a few hands of cards and talked. That was all.”

  “Why did Wroxton let you ride home alone in this state?” demanded Helena.

  “I came to no harm. Do you think I’m such a poor horseman I can’t keep my seat after a few drinks?” said Arthur. He swayed slightly. “I’m going to bed. Leave it be, Helena.”

  He turned and she watched as he wove his way down the hall to his room. He stopped at the door and looked back at her.

  “Good night,” he said, entering his room and closing the door behind him.

  Helena stood for a moment in the hall, staring after him, then stormed back into her bedroom, putting the candle on the table and clambering back into the bed. As she pulled the coverlet up to her nose and snuffed the candle, she was aware of a growing sense of anger with Lord Wroxton. That he would get a boy Arthur’s age drunk and then allow him to ride home in the dark, when he might fall and break his neck, was the edge of enough. Clearly, he was irredeemable, and had no sense of responsibility to his neighbors or friends. It was no wonder he had ended up exiled from his home. The greatest problem was that he had ever returned.

  Chapter 17

  Helena woke the next morning to bright sunshine pouring in her window and the sound of birds greeting the morning with exuberance. She groaned. She had not sent for Sherburne when she went to bed, and she had neglected to close the heavy drapes. Now the room was bathed with early morning light. She rolled over, pulling a pillow over her head, but it was no use. Despite the hour she had spent lying in bed, wide awake, going over the Earl of Wroxton’s iniquities in her head, the birds continued to greet the day, and she decided reluctantly that she must do so as well. She rose and rang for Sherburne.

  The maid bustled into her room soon after, carrying a ewer of warm water, and made a tutting noise when she saw
Helena up already, standing at the window, gazing over the fields.

  “Miss Helena, it’s very early,” she said. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  Helena watched as Sherburne poured the water into a bowl, and then set about her morning ablutions. “I couldn’t sleep any longer. Put out my riding habit if you please.”

  Sherburne shook her head. “Your riding habit? It’s a bit early isn’t it? You usually ride later in the day.”

  “I am riding out immediately,” Helena answered. “Prepare my blue habit, and then let Macklin know I will need him to accompany me.”

  Sherburne, her face clearly showing she thought her mistress to be mad, obeyed her orders, and soon Helena was arrayed in a dark blue wool habit, with smart brass buttons, and gold trimmed epaulets at the shoulders. A lace ruffle at the neck and dashing shako hat finished her outfit. She marched out of her room, cast an irritated glance at her brother’s door, and then walked to the stables, where she found Macklin awaiting her.

  “Where are you wanting to go so early, Miss Helena?” he asked gruffly.

  “To Wroxton Hall,” said Helena.

  Macklin spat. “Mr. Keighley just came from there not five hours ago,” he observed. “Perhaps the earl has had enough of our family already.”

  “I need to talk to Lord Wroxton this morning,” said Helena firmly. “Your opinion on the matter is not required.”

  Macklin shrugged and handed her up into the saddle. “He might still be abed,” he warned.

  “Then he will have to get up,” retorted Helena. She turned her horse toward Wroxton and set out at a smart pace, Macklin following in her wake.

  As she rode, Helena nursed her sense of outrage toward Malcolm Arlingby, so when she rode into the Wroxton stable yard, her eyes were snapping with annoyance. She slid gracefully out of the saddle and tossed the reins to a startled groom.

  “Is your master in the house?” she asked.

  “Good morning, Miss Keighley,” said the groom. He shot an alarmed glance at Macklin, who said nothing, merely pursing his lips and shaking his head.

  “I asked where his lordship is,” said Helena. “I would appreciate an answer. Is he in the house?”